


Dignity, or the Lack Thereof

by dracoqueen22



Category: Critical Role (Web Series)
Genre: Campaign 2 (Critical Role), Fluff, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-06-06
Updated: 2019-06-06
Packaged: 2020-04-08 12:38:58
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 989
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19107268
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/dracoqueen22/pseuds/dracoqueen22
Summary: Lazy days, lazy afternoons, a moment of peace between one job and the next. Of course it was all Molly’s idea.





	Dignity, or the Lack Thereof

**Author's Note:**

> This was the piece I originally wrote for the Mollymauk Fanzine before I switched to something without referencing trademarked names. Feedback is welcome and appreciated. :)

Molly isn’t asleep.   
  
He pretends to be, because moments like these are the best, but he’s really not.   
  
He reclines on his tapestry, arms folded behind his head, one leg drawn over the other, and stares up at a blue, blue sky. His coat hangs over the edge of the cart to prevent unsightly wrinkles and grass stains. It’s a warm day, probably one of the last they’ll have as they head further north.   
  
The air smells of grass, freshly hewn and stacked for hay. A light breeze stirs dandelion fluff and the occasional leaf as encroaching autumn demands a colorful sacrifice. Laughter floats along from Jester and Nott and Beau playing a children’s game in the open field.   
  
It’s a bastardization of tag and hide and seek. Molly’s not sure how it works. Every time he asks, the rules get more complicated. He doesn’t know who’s winning. He’s not sure anyone is.   
  
Caleb has taken up residence in the shadow of a tree, safely ensconced from the glare of the sun, which has turned him redder and frecklier over the past few days.   
  
Jester teases him about not having enough dirt to hide his adorable freckles. Caleb ignores her, rolling his eyes and burying his nose in his book.   
  
It’s a new one, Molly knows. They’d picked it up by chance from a passing merchant caravan.   
  
Caleb’s conceded to the heat, spreading his coat beneath him, and every once in a while, he nibbles on the pile of berries Nott and Jester found earlier and dispersed unequally.   
  
Nott ensured Caleb received the lion’s share.   
  
Molly licks his lips and still tastes their tart sweetness. Late season berries, he thinks. A shade too ripe but absolutely perfect. Ah, what he wouldn’t give to have them baked into a pie and sprinkled with crunchy sugar.   
  
A shadow blocks out the sun. Molly squints up at Yasha, her eyes sparkling, her smile slight but mischievous.   
  
“Hold these for me,” she says, and she sprinkles flowers down on him. A colorful array of stems and petals land on his belly and chest.   
  
Molly can’t be bothered to brush them off. “Find me some, too,” he says. He closes his eyes, and the sun’s warmth returns.   
  
Yasha chuckles as she wanders away, leaving the sweet scent of the flowers floating around him. Her presence is protective and comforting, for however long he has it.   
  
Molly shifts, takes in a deep breath, and floats back into a hazy state of half-asleep, half-awake. Distantly, he tracks Jester’s laughter and Nott’s sarcastic remarks and Beau’s arrogant challenges. Under them, Caleb turns a page with a barely audible swish, his lips no doubt moving as he repeats every notable piece of information to himself.   
  
Yasha ghosts through the field, finding flowers for her book, beautiful splashes of color to press between the pages.   
  
One. Two. Three. Four. Five.   
  
Molly’s brow furrows. His eyes blink open. He counts again.   
  
He’s missing one.   
  
Another shadow falls over his face. Molly turns his head as Fjord drops beside him, with a grunt of exhaustion and a clatter of leather armor. Sweat paints his brow, and he absently wipes it .   
  
Six. Molly’s counted them all.   
  
“If you sleep now, you won’t be able to sleep tonight,” Fjord cautions, like the leader he keeps pretending he’s not.   
  
Molly snorts. “You can nap too, if you want.” He pats the space on the tapestry beside him, though laying on a bit of late summer grass isn’t going to hurt anyone. “Plenty of room for a snuggle.”   
  
Fjord draws his knees up, wraps his arms around them. “You can’t control that tail of yours. No, thanks.”   
  
“My tail has a mind of its own and a penchant for adorable half-orcs. You can’t blame it.” Molly shrugs and closes his eyes, soaking in the sun’s rays.   
  
And because he can, he whaps Fjord with his tail.   
  
Fjord huffs a near-laugh. “You were right.”   
  
“I usually am, but in this case, you’ll have to be more specific.” Molly grins, a chuckle dancing from his lips.   
  
Fjord flicks the end of his tail, playful. “We needed a day like this. Goofing off and being stupid. It’s nice.”   
  
“Never underestimate the value of making a complete fool of yourself while also doing nothing at all,” Molly says with an exaggerated wink, purely because he loves the way it makes the tips of Fjord’s ears darken.   
  
“Something you live by, I’d guess,” Fjord says, only for his eyes to go wide. “Shit!” He abruptly scrambles away from Molly.   
  
What…?  
  
Running footsteps and a shriek of laughter cut through the conversation. Molly looks just in time for Nott to give a great running leap over him, deftly avoiding Fjord and landing clear on the other side. She takes off before Molly can say a word.   
  
He sits up, appalled.   
  
“Look out!”   
  
Jester’s warning saves Molly from a blue foot to the face. He ducks and covers before she sails over him, giggling. Molly twists upright, sends a glare in her direction.   
  
“Damn it, Molly!”   
  
He immediately goes down in a collision of brown skin, sweat, and tangled blue clothes. Beau curses, elbows digging into his sides, and the flowers scatter. A blade of grass finds itself up Molly’s right nostril.   
  
He sneezes.   
  
“Ew. Gross. Get off me!”   
  
“You landed on me first!”   
  
Beau shoves him away and scrambles to her feet, sprinting across the grass. She hollers at the other miscreants, and they shout back teasing taunts.  
  
Molly spits out a mouthful of grass, and tosses a look over at Fjord, laughing louder and freer than Molly’s seen before.   
  
Well.   
  
He’s stained with grass, and he’s got the smell of it in his nose, but it’s a beautiful day, and Fjord is laughing. It’s only his dignity that’s a little rumpled.   
  
Molly takes off after Beau, his tail lashing behind him, and Fjord laughing even harder.  
  
Who needs dignity anyway?  
  
  
*


End file.
